


and now?

by touchstarved



Series: swallowed whole [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Body Image, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, Kissing, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert, depressed!reader, hannibal washes your hair bc you’re too depressed to shower yee haw, it’s My depression and I get to choose the coping mechanism, no smut for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:33:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27873094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchstarved/pseuds/touchstarved
Summary: There’s something ridiculous about this, you naked and him fully clothed, and you’re definitely dripping water on the floor, you know, and somewhere in the back of your head you’re vaguely aware that that’s the kind of thing he might consider rude, but it’s difficult to focus on any of that when his mouth is hot on yours and your eyelashes are brushing against his cheek and his hand is sliding around to cradle your neck as he presses into you—
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Reader
Series: swallowed whole [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136954
Comments: 14
Kudos: 115





	and now?

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully this doesn’t need clarifying but uhh just in case here’s the obligatory disclaimer that i don’t condone cannibalism or murder (or pretty much anything hannibal lecter does in every piece of media he’s in lmao)

The world is sharpest before dawn. Nobody awake, save for you and the house, all creaks and groans and rain-spattered windows as you lie there, curled up on your side wearing yesterday’s clothes and clutching a book. Hard to remember the title, or the plot. Already your eyes have skimmed the same paragraph three times over, but even as your heartbeat slows and your sight grows dim and your muscles cry out to sink into the obscenely expensive mattress, you can’t go to sleep. 

“Still awake?”

His voice is low and smoky, slightly raspier in the dead of night, but the unexpectedness of it is enough to startle you into a state of mostly-conscious. Even that isn’t enough to inject energy enough to move. He might find it impolite, you know, and you want to turn and face him, but—you can’t. 

You just can’t.

The plush carpet masks his footsteps so well you don’t realize he’s moving until the mattress dips down besides you.

“Have you slept at all while I’ve been away?”

“Can’t,” you mumble into the blanket, mortified by the sudden proximity, by all the little things he’s no doubt noticed by now—the stale clothes, the leftover perfume, the mess of your hair all tangled and oily. He must find you repulsive. You hadn’t expected him home until tomorrow, though that probably wouldn’t have made a difference. It’s not as though you would have been able to make yourself get up, anyway. 

You don’t expect to feel the weight of his hand on your head. 

You flinch, then melt into the touch, shame outweighed by the need for affection, and (as though matters couldn’t get any worse) tears begin to prick up in the corners of your eyes. Fat ones, round, glistening things that roll down your side-tipped face, across the bridge of your nose and down your left side temple.

“I can’t,” you whisper again, and the silent tears turn to shaking, deep sobs that start off quiet and end up racking your entire body. “I’m sorry, I tried, but I—”

He pulls you against your chest as you give into the tears, gently shushing you and rocking back and forth. “Why didn’t you call?” he asks, once you’ve quieted down.

“Didn’t—” You hiccup, and bury your face against his shoulder, mortified. “Didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble.

“I see.” 

“Are you mad?”

“No.” Without saying anything else, he pulls away, only enough so that his hand is free to reach under your legs and sweep you up, bridal position, cradled against his chest. You feel him stand, feel the motion of him walking out of the room.

“Wha- what are you doing?”

“Taking care of you.” He sets you down in the bathtub, pressing a kiss to your temple before he sets about the process of taking your clothes off. You let him pull your shirt over your head, but your arms immediately fly to cover yourself. He lets you, setting about the business of filling the tub with hot water. “The part of your mind that worries I’ll be angry if you ask for help is the same part of your mind that finds it difficult to take care of yourself. I know you are working on unlearning those patterns of behavior, but in the meantime, it can be helpful to have someone else take on that burden for you.”

Neither of you speaks for a while after that. He moves you easily, effortlessly, so that you are leaning against one edge of the tub. He kneels on the floor behind you. His fingers massage shampoo into your hair with firm, gentle movements, sleeves rolled to the elbows to protect his shirt. You can’t help but relax back into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as he rinses your hair and begins the process again with conditioner. 

Your eyes flip open when you hear him move around to the other side of the tub, your arms tightening across your chest and stomach. “Don’t.” 

He doesn’t make another movement, but tilts his head. “What are you afraid of?”

You hesitate, dropping your eyes in shame. “Don’t want you to look,” you mutter.

“Look at your body?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

It is not a new move of his, forcing you to put your insecurities into words, but you still find it difficult. “Because…”

He waits through your silence. You feel his eyes on you as you search for an appropriate response.

“Because it’s not good enough?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” 

There was a chuckle behind the words, and something in your chest twisted at it—at the fact that he could laugh at this, laugh at you, laugh at all the ugliness you feel—

He says your name, his voice soft and serious, and your attention snaps back to the present. You look up and see him closer, feel his lips against yours and his hand on your throat and the tickle of his hair against your forehead. 

It’s a gentle kiss, short but tender. He pulls away but keeps his hand where it was. Something about the way he looks at you then, with his soft mouth and his hungry eyes, makes the butterfly of your pulse quicken beneath his palm.

“And now?” he asks, his eyes searching your expression. You wait a moment before leaning in to kiss him again. There’s something ridiculous about this, you naked and him fully clothed, and you’re definitely dripping water on the floor, you know, and somewhere in the back of your head you’re vaguely aware that that’s the kind of thing he might consider rude, but it’s difficult to focus on any of that when his mouth is hot on yours and your eyelashes are brushing against his cheek and his hand is sliding around to cradle your neck as he presses into you—

When he pulls away this time, both of you are panting. Your arms are around his neck. There’s water  _ everywhere _ —the floor, the sides of the tub, the fabric of his custom-tailored shirt. 

“Now?” he asks again. You can’t help it—a pretty blush rises to your cheeks. 

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps what?” You shake your head, but some of the weariness is gone from your eyes, and that seems to be enough to satisfy him. He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, and reaches across you for soap and a washcloth. 

“I will accept that for now.” His tie is coming loose, you notice, exposing a slice of collarbone. It’s a tempting sight. “In the future, when you are feeling insecure about your body, I hope you keep this memory at the front of your mind.”

“I’ll try,” you promise. You don’t flinch away from his hands on your skin, every stretch mark, every soft place. And as he leans in to press his lips back against your jugular, you can’t help but think that maybe being taken care of every once in a while isn’t such a bad thing, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> hi my loves,
> 
> nobody asked for this but quarantine is kicking my ASS so here’s 1k un-proofread words of cannibal serial killer man giving you a bubble bath (also realized that his name isn’t mentioned a single time in this...oh well...)
> 
> love you all, and i hope to be back soon with more writings <3 stay well
> 
> (also if you liked this/have any suggestions hmu with a comment maybe 🥺)


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